


Below and Beneath

by yuletide_archivist



Category: The Scarlet Pimpernel - Baroness Orczy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-12-20
Updated: 2006-12-20
Packaged: 2018-01-25 05:25:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1633841
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yuletide_archivist/pseuds/yuletide_archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Percy and Marguerite, immediately after Book One<br/>There is no sorrow like a love denied<br/>Nor any joy like love that has its will.  (Richard Hovey)<br/>There is no sorrow like a love denied<br/>Nor any joy like love that has its will.  (Richard Hovey)<br/></p>
            </blockquote>





	Below and Beneath

**Author's Note:**

> with great thanks to grit kitty and nestra for convincing me to do this; grit kitty, nestra and celia311 for beta duties and most especially shanola22 for hand-holding, cheerleading, reading the WIP and beta assitance.
> 
> Written for fannore

 

 

 

 

Fandom: _The Scarlet Pimpernel_ by Baroness Orczy (bookverse)  
Pairing: Percy/Marguerite  
Written for: fannore, Yuletide 2006  
Summary: There is no sorrow like a love denied   
Nor any joy like love that has its will. (Richard Hovey)

On board the _Day Dream_ , safe among her friends and thankfully far, far away   
from the coast of France, Marguerite finally allowed herself to breathe.

They were all gathered in the salon of the yacht: her brother, the Count de Tournay,   
Andrew Ffoulkes and the two other gentlemen rescued tonight. So tired, she had already   
forgotten their names; one was a _duc_ and the other a count, but she couldn't   
remember - and frankly, didn't care - who or what they were.

And Percy.

As usual, he stood in the center of the group, regaling his audience with a lighthearted   
retelling of their time in France. _Our recent misadventures_ , he said, with a wave   
of his long white fingers, as if it had been nothing more serious than a misplaced stick-pin. He was still clad in his disreputable gaberdine, although the wig had long since been   
put aside and his blond hair was neatly queued. Ever the dandy, he'd been careful to   
smooth and tie it fresh just after they came aboard.

From her chair she watched him, deliberately ignored his exaggerated cadence and   
simply regarded his face. Even here, among those so deeply in his debt and some of his   
closest co-conspirators, he played the fool. The effusive gestures, the fluttering fingers   
and his prattling speech, littered with "demmed" and "la!" and other assorted inanities -   
all designed, she realized, perfectly calculated to distract the listener from the piercing   
blue eyes, which watched and evaluated from under his heavy eyelids.

She was tired - no, exhausted beyond telling. Her feet ached and even in the flickering   
candlelight she could see how bruised and bloody they were. She wanted nothing more   
than simply to curl into a small ball in her chair and sleep. But more than life itself, she   
wanted Percy - _Percy_ , not that demmed idiot Blakeney.

If she were tired, if she hurt, how much more must he? She narrowed her eyes, watched   
her husband closely. There was a rigidity to his body posture, and now that she looked   
upon it, his hands only moved from the elbows down. His shoulders and back were held   
straight and still. With a pang, she remembered the dreadful kick one of the soldiers had   
laid into "the Jew".

If he could be cavalier, continue his act despite his exhaustion and injuries, then by God   
so could she. "Lud!" She put on her brightest smile as the men all turned to face her;   
Percy stopped in mid-description, hands still in a sweeping gesture. "I fear, Sir Percy, that   
I must interrupt your most enchanting story."

"My lady?" He sketched a short bow and she - with her new-found sensitivity to his   
moods and expressions - could see in his careful movement how much even that cost   
him. "How may I be of service?"

"La! I confess, sir, I am quite exhausted by our activities this evening. I would lie down,   
if you would be so kind to escort me?" She held out her hand, held her expression   
neutral, even a little contemptuous, but silently willed him with her all might for him to   
come to her.

Percy laid his hand on the rough fabric over his heart. "Gentlemen. When the lady   
commands, I must obey. By your leave?"

Whatever their personal preferences, the gentlemen did not, of course, complain. She had   
relied on this. There were general wishes for her rest and courteous bows, but she had   
attained her goal: Percy's hand was in hers.

Ever gentlemanly, he assisted her to her feet and escorted her the few steps to his cabin.   
Opening the door he politely let her enter the bedchamber first. An uncharacteristic look   
of doubt came into his eyes and he remained in the doorframe, hand on the knob. "I will   
wish you a good rest, Madam."

"Don't you dare walk away from me, Percy." She lowered her voice to a bare whisper to   
prevent the other men from overhearing her, tightened her grip on his hand and dug her   
nails into his skin. "Come, shut the door, and sit down before you fall down. You are   
exhausted."

He blinked, once, slowly, and she could see him lower the fool's mask. Closing the door,   
he leaned his golden head against it and let out a shuddering breath. "I had thought - I   
feared - " He swallowed heavily and looked down at her from his great height. "I had   
begun to think the last few hours were all an invention of a fevered mind and you did not   
love me."

"You are a fool, Percy Blakeney." The words themselves were harsh, but she said them   
gently and reached up to stroke his cheek. "But I was a greater one and I do not intend to   
be such again. Come lie down with me, my love, for the little time we have before we   
reach England. Even in all your adventures, you cannot have had many nights as this."

He took her hand and pressed his lips to her palm. "Indeed not, madam. 'Ods teeth, but it   
was worth everything to have you here with me." He tucked her hand into the crook of   
his arm, escorted her the few steps across the room. "If you will insist that I rest, I will   
likewise require you do as well. It pains me to see you in such discomfort." He looked at   
the bed longingly. "Would you do me the kindness, m'dear, of helping me out of these ...   
er, garments? I fear I am rather too sore to remove them without assistance."

She rucked up the hem of his robe, gave him a slight push. "Sit down Percy; you're too   
tall for me to get this off."

She tugged the fabric, heard his intake of breath. "Slowly, sweetheart, slowly. In faith,   
this is going to be a little difficult."

He was unable to raise his arms over his head; in the end, he leaned forward and lifted his   
arms towards her so she could pull the hideous thing over his head. Beneath it he wore a   
grimy shirt and a filthier pair of breeches. While he began to unbutton the shirt she   
limped over to the wardrobe and on his direction chose a snow-white linen shirt and   
finely made breeches for him to wear. She turned; his bare back was to her and her breath   
caught in her throat.

"Percy." Her voice was strangled. "Oh, _jesu christe_ , Percy."

His back was a mass of criss-crossed welts, swollen and angry; some of the blows had   
broken his skin and the blood had run down, forming a crazy-quilt pattern against the   
scarlet stripes. His left side was bruised black, more than two hands' span across.

"Hm?" He glanced over his shoulder at her, followed her gaze. "Oh, don't fret yourself   
m'dear; nothing's broken and bruises heal."

"Percy-" Tears sprang to her eyes. How could he be so high-handed about his injuries?   
How could he have stood there, so long and so calmly, entertaining his audience in the   
salon when he had to be in excruciating pain?

"La! Come, m'dear, and give me my clothes. I fear I will catch my death."

Marguerite stirred herself, hobbled around the bed to give him the garments. He laid them   
on the bed and took her hands, drawing her close between his spread knees. "Margot," he   
said gently, all traces of the foppish Blakeney gone. His blue eyes were dark and serious.   
He wrapped his large capable hands around hers, and kissed her fingertips. "Margot, my   
dear, this is nothing. Of what account is a little blood, a little bruising? We have three -   
no, four, count your brother Armand - four men aboard with us who would be dead   
tomorrow had I not played this part. Surely their lives are worth a tiny dent to my skin?"   
He grinned suddenly and his eyes lit with his ever-present good humour. "And the dent to   
my pride! 'Struth, woman, 'tis more than a little humbling to have one's wife find one   
trussed up like a Christmas goose. Will you ever be able to erase the image from your   
memory?"

She leaned in and kissed him lightly. "I will treasure the remembrance of my brave   
husband suffering such indignities to his person for the sake of other men's lives. And,"   
she smiled back at him wickedly, "that image will help keep you properly humble, will it   
not?"

"I'll be demmed, I've married a vixen," he protested. Slipping a hand about her slim   
waist, he drew her close and kissed her deeply. She relaxed into his embrace, rested her   
fingers on the warmth of his bare shoulders and returned his affection with equal fervour.

It had been so long - too long - since they had kissed. She reveled in the taste of him,   
sank into the sensations that his touch provoked in her body. His hands slid down from   
her waist, pulled her closer and she could feel the heat of his hands even through her   
layers of skirts and petticoats.

Her fingertips caressed his shoulders, crept up to cup his face where beard stubble   
prickled her palms. His lips moved from her mouth to her jaw and down her neck,   
provoking shivers of desire to run down the length of her body. She threaded her fingers   
into his hair, silently encouraging his continued attentions.

His lips slipped further down, his warm breath caressing the swell of her décolletage,   
before coming to rest on the peak of her breast, pressing through both fabric and stays.   
Her back arched and she gave a small cry in pleasure.

He broke the contact, face flushed and breathing heavily. Trembling slightly, Marguerite   
leaned forward and put her forehead to his. In the sudden heavy silence they could hear   
the muffled laughter of the men in the salon.

"I am sorry, beloved," Percy said softly. "I should not have taken advantage of your   
fatigue."

She drew back, her entire body still tingling from his touch. "Advantage? Percy, I should   
apologize to you, for ... " she paused, uncertain. "When you are hurt and need rest, I   
should not have troubled you."

His eyes brightened with humour. "Zounds! Trouble me at your convenience, m'dear!"

She felt the blush rise in her cheeks. "You should get dressed."

He threw his head back and laughed. "La! It is probably best if you left me, my dearest.   
For a few minutes, at least, whilst I shed these filthy breeches."

Marguerite felt the colour deepen in her cheeks as Percy grinned at her wickedly. "I do   
apologize for asking you to stay on your beautiful feet a few minutes more, but if you   
would be so kind as to ask Ffoulkes to soak this nasty thing in seawater." He handed her   
the filthy shirt he had recently removed. "'Od's fish but a cold compress might do   
wonders for my back."

The faithful Ffoulkes responded immediately to her call and willingly hastened topside to   
do his leader the service. He handed her the bundled cloth, carefully wrung but cool and   
damp to the touch. "Thank you, dear Andrew," she said, reaching out to touch his hand.   
"You have proven yourself the best and truest of friends this day and I will ever be in   
your debt for your aid."

Ffoulkes blushed, the colour in his face making him look extremely young and   
vulnerable. "I gave my word to serve him, Lady Blakeney."

"I know you did, Andrew. But not all gentlemen would hold so true to their promise and I   
thank you again for your assistance to Percy and to me. May I ask one final favour of   
you? I am going to insist that Percy rest as we return to England. Do I ask too much to   
request you come to me again in an hour or so, to resoak this rag?"

Ffoulkes gave her a courtly bow. "It would be my honour, my Lady. May I inquire: is   
Blakeney injured? Should I summon a physician when we dock in Dover?"

"Your concern does you great credit, Andrew, but no, a physician is not necessary. He   
has some bruising from our recent encounter with the French and this " - here she   
gestured with the wet cloth in her hand - "will give him some ease, but nothing more   
needs to be done at this time." Impulsively, she touched his hand again. "Trust me,   
Andrew; I will take good care of him. And, again, I thank you for all you have done   
recently for me."

Returning to her chamber, she found Percy lying facedown on the bed, linen shirt loose   
and untucked from the clean breeches he had donned, arms wrapped about the pillow   
beneath his head. She lifted the shirt hem, cringed again at the sight of the bruising spread   
across his back, and carefully placed the compress. He groaned as the cold touched his   
skin, the first true sign of pain he had expressed throughout the long, long night. Moved   
by extreme tenderness, she stroked his head like one would for a small child. He rolled   
slightly, caught her hand and pressed her fingertips to his lips.

"Come lie down with me, m'dear."

"Percy. You need to rest, to sleep. I'll stay in the room with you, but in the chair."

She could see the exhaustion in his face as he turned toward her and opened his eyes. "I   
will sleep better with you beside me, Margot."

How could she resist such a request? Marguerite circled the bed and carefully sat down   
next to him, propping a pillow behind her back to support her. With no other woman on   
board to assist her with loosening her stays, sitting up in the bed was her most   
comfortable option. Soon, she promised herself, soon they would be at The Fisherman's   
Rest and there Sally could play lady's maid for a time. Percy shifted slightly so he lay   
pressed to her side and reached his left arm across her to hold her close. He was asleep in   
moments.

She must have dozed herself; it was the sound of a gentle knock on the door that brought   
her to consciousness again. Percy had moved in his sleep, his head was now pillowed in   
her lap and his arms encircled her hips. At the door, Andrew Ffoulkes peeked in; she   
waved him in, and then put a finger to her lips to enjoin his silence. She motioned to   
Percy's back and watched the expression of horror and concern cross Andrew's face   
when he saw Percy's injuries. Good man, he did nothing more than remove the compress   
and leave to resoak it.

Percy stirred and murmured in his sleep when the cold cloth was replaced on his back.   
She dismissed Ffoulkes with a nod of thanks. Percy's rest seem to be unsettled as he   
shifted and sighed; to sooth him she removed his hair ribbon and gently stroked his hair   
free from its queue until it lay in shimmering waves on his neck.

"Margot." Percy's voice was muffled in her lap and his arms tightened about her.

"I'm here, Percy."

"Are we to Dover yet?"

"No, Percy, not yet. Sleep. I was replacing your compress - I didn't mean to wake you."

He shifted again, let out a long breath as the movement troubled his injured back and was   
asleep again in minutes.

She remained awake the remainder of their voyage, holding him as he slept and   
wondering how she had been so blind to his qualities. How completely he had fooled her,   
how carefully he disguised his intellect, his cunning and his bravery from all but those in   
league with him. And where, she wondered, did they go from here? To protect his   
identity, she would need to act the role of contemptuous wife, as he would have to   
continue to play the fool. She felt a small thrill of excitement run down her spine;   
certainly those currently in power in France would suspect - if Chauvelin was believed -   
but be unable to prove the identity of the Scarlet Pimpernel. This would be a fine line to   
walk, to play her part so perfectly as to confound her husband's enemies.

And for the first time she understood the lure of the game, the addicting rush of   
adrenaline that drove Percy and his small band of compatriots. Oh, yes, this would be   
interesting indeed.

There were running footsteps and raised voices from above; they must be coming into   
Dover. Reluctantly she touched Percy's shoulder and called his name.

"Percy? Percy, we're coming into port."

He stretched and grunted as he slowly and carefully rose from the bed. "La! Did you   
sleep, m'dear?"

"Yes." He shot her a suspicious look. "Some. Truly, Percy, I did. You needed sleep   
more."

He crossed the room and extended a hand to help her rise from the bed. "Well, m'dear, let   
us prepare to disembark, eh?"

She shook out her skirts, ran a hand over her tousled hair. "I'm not very presentable, I   
fear."

"You are, as always, beautiful." She felt the colour rise in her cheeks at the frank desire   
in his gaze. "And I will take you home as soon as possible; it may take a few hours at the   
Fishermen's Rest to get our guests settled here in England and reunited with their   
families." He picked up his brush and ran it through his hair.

"Sit down, Percy, and let me do your hair for you." The look he gave her was one of   
surprise. "It is the proper duty of a loving wife, is it not? Let me do this for you."

He sat and she brushed and plaited his thick hair into a neat queue. "What do we do now,   
Percy?"

"La! In what way, m'dear?"

She gave him a smile and kissed the top of his head. "I can hardly start clinging to my   
demmed fool of a husband without some excuse, can I?"

"'Struth, we need to plan our public behavior, do we not?" He rubbed his chin,   
considering. "Demm, but I need a shave." He caught her eye in the mirror before him.   
"You're most correct, m'dear, and you're several steps ahead of me. I had not   
considered... Well, there's naught for it. We only need be concerned for the next several   
hours at the Fisherman's Rest. Then we will head for home." He turned in his chair,   
caught her hand and pressed a kiss to her palm. "I trust your concern was only for public   
behavior?"

She leaned forward and kissed him gently; she had seen the momentary flash of doubt in   
his eyes. "It occurs to me that we must needs continue as before, so that any spies of   
Chauvelin or Foucquier-Tinville will not be able to prove the identity of the Pimpernel."

His usual good-humoured smile lit up his face. "The cleverest woman in Europe indeed!   
Zounds, but this fool is a lucky man to have such a wife." His toilette complete, he rose   
and dressed, tucking in his shirt, choosing a dove-gray frock coat lavishly embroidered   
with gold thread and knotting his lacy jabot at his neck.

Marguerite watched him with amusement. He was no fool but he still was a dandy, still   
loved to wear nothing less than the most luxurious and opulent.

As he turned to review his appearance in the mirror, he caught sight of her smile. "La! Do   
I amuse you so, sweetheart? I trust I meet with your approval."

"You do, Sir Percy, you most certainly do. However, I feel quite the ugly swan in   
comparison."

"'Struth, I have no attire to offer you, m'dear. I shudder to think, however, what you   
would think should such clothing be available on my yacht!"

She couldn't resist laughing at the rueful look on his face. "I will have to forgive that   
lack, given the alternative you propose."

The voices from above had risen, hails and greetings and directions for tying the _Day  
Dream_ to the pier. In just moments they would be back on good solid English soil.   
Percy extended his arm to her, to escort her. As she took his hand, he became suddenly   
serious, brought her fingers to his lips and kissed each fingertip.

"I do adore you so, Margot." He bent down and kissed her lightly before tucking her hand   
into the crook of his arm. His entire bearing changed, the 'demmed idiot' Blakeney   
settling like a veneer to disguise her darling, brave Percy. "And, so, Madam, shall we   
depart?"

 


End file.
